


chaos theory

by vaporstretch



Series: commit to memory [5]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Atsumu is just a sap, Flirting, Forreals someone help Atsumu lol, Gentle Kissing, Light Angst, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, MSBY Black Jackals are chaotic, Not Beta Read, Romantic Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:28:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27877633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaporstretch/pseuds/vaporstretch
Summary: “Hey,” Sakusa whispers, gently holding Atsumu’s head in his hands. “We’ll be alright.”He doesn’t get to answer back because Sakusa’s kissing him, slow and steady. And instead of feeling like his heart could at any moment rip a hole through his chest, he just drowns in tranquil warmth, a calmness that placates the frenzy against his ribcage.---Sakusa and Atsumu come to make an important decision regarding their relationship.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu & Sakusa Kiyoomi, Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Series: commit to memory [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1983235
Comments: 24
Kudos: 422





	chaos theory

**Author's Note:**

> i have nothing else to say other than i just hope this one's okay lol. again, i tried my best and i hope you good folks manage to still enjoy this one.
> 
> infinite heart hands to everyone who's read this series/has left kudos/dropped a comment. thank you truly :')
> 
> anyway, i'm on twitter (@vaporstretch__) so follow me there maybe for more shenanigans lol.

Sakusa was nine years-old when his philosophy and ethics professor of a father had told him about Aristotle's shrewd perspectives on friendship. Not exactly an ideal form of parental bonding, but nevertheless, he had shared that Aristotle believed humans basically form three types of friendships: one based on utility, another based on pleasure, and a third one based on virtue.

The concepts sounded abstract at first, but when Sakusa entered school the following week and was forced to partner up with a classmate for an assignment, he understood what a friendship based on utility entailed. It’s transactional. You scratch my back, I scratch yours. It meets an inevitable dissolution once the mutual benefits end.

When Sakusa joined his first volleyball team, he remembered Aristotle’s words on friendships based on pleasure. The camaraderie that had formed between Sakusa and his teammates were a means to an end--to further facilitate this ever-growing fascination with volleyball. 

Middle school was mostly composed of these two friendships. Metaphorical business handshakes, teams and clubs that were there to provide for Sakusa’s budding interests as an adolescent. Knowing these kinds of friendships had helped Sakusa preempt the unavoidable curveballs of his early youth. Nothing was too genuinely personal. And thus he was able to stay clear of unnecessary emotions that deserved no space to occupy in his mind that was already too cluttered.

But at age 16, he began to see specks of this third kind of friendship in the way he pushed himself in every volleyball match, inadvertently seeking an unfamiliar feeling of satisfaction over seeing exhausted but relieved grins on his teammates’ faces. 

He experienced more of this when he found himself forging such a friendship with a boy a year older than him from Miyagi. It was nothing to write home about, but it existed and persisted. To his surprise, there was not a curveball in sight. Or at least, any particularly unpleasant ones.

He was 17 when he first heard of Miya Atsumu during the Interhigh Nationals. The Miya twins’ names were passed around in loud whispers in the arena. Talk of formidable brothers from a team representing Hyogo prefecture was a cause of relative hysteria among the other young athletes. Sakusa had rationalized the commotion they had caused. After all, it’s not everyday you witness siblings play in the same high school sports team, he had once told Komori.

He was 17 when he had sat down in the stands to catch the tail-end of a match between Inarizaki and a team from Aomori prefecture. He was 17 when he witnessed the shockingly brilliant broad set from a boy branded number 7 in white, stark against the black of his sweat-soaked jersey. He was 17 when he saw that boy smile, all teeth and zero regard for the fact that the loud cheering squad was chanting the name of the wing spiker, when in reality it was that clever toss that had earned them the winning point. 

And he was 17 when he realized Aristotle was probably wrong, that perhaps there was a fourth kind of friendship that exists. The kind that which transcends utility, pleasure, and virtue. Sakusa was 17 when he began to think that perhaps friendships can also be borne out of simple curiosity. 

Miya Atsumu was a curveball that did not frighten Sakusa. It made him wonder instead.

***

The last thing Atsumu remembers before completely dozing off was how he was insisting upon Sakusa that the current lineup of Russia's national volleyball team was better than Canada's. To back up their respective claims, they had laid out stats, plays, and soon ended up streaming highlights together on Sakusa's bed. But practice had been so early in the morning and exhaustion had caught up to the two athletes, and before Atsumu could even process the astute weariness in his bones, he had already fallen asleep.

He's on his way to rousing from the afternoon nap when he feels something press down on his chest. His eyelids are still heavy, but he slowly flutters them open as he peers down to see a patch of curls resting near his ribcage. It occurs to him that sleeping on Sakusa's relatively small bed has unintentionally led them to quite the compromise: Sakusa snuggled up so close to Atsumu, his head on the setter's chest while an arm is thrown across Atsumu's torso. 

Suddenly Atsumu is hyper-aware of the way he's breathing, wondering if the rise and fall of his chest proved bothersome for Sakusa in any way. But then he senses Sakusa stir, the surface of his cheek rubbing against his ribcage and he is instantly awashed with a tenderness that gives rise to this urge to card his fingers through the mess of curls in his line of sight. 

"Why are you touching my hair?" The voice is muffled, but still clear enough for Atsumu to catch his boyfriend's words. 

"Your head," Atsumu does an exaggerated grunt. "S'heavy. Seriously."

"Sounds like a you problem," Sakusa slurs, still like the surface of an untouched lake.

Atsumu continues to comb through the curls. Slowly and without purpose other than to feel the softness of Sakusa's locks between his fingers. He pulls back, hand lingering on the ends of a few springy strands, when Sakusa lifts his head. 

"Hi," Atsumu whispers at the heavy-lidded boy. 

Sakusa pushes himself off, balancing eventually on his arms. But instead of completely detaching from Atsumu, he crawls upwards until he's face to face with the blond.

"Hi," Sakusa says. 

When Sakusa tilts his head and kisses him, his sleep-dazed mind rapidly jumpstarts with enough kick that sharpens his want, and so he clings to Sakusa's shoulders, kissing him back in earnest chase of something that feels bottomless.

He senses Sakusa shift on top of him, and he's straddling Atsumu, caging him in with his arms.

Atsumu takes Sakusa’s cheek in his hand and he lets his thumb skim the skin below his eye. "What do you even  _ eat  _ to be this good-looking, Omi-kun?"

"That was very corny," Sakusa tells him matter-of-factly, but he doesn't hide the way he's leaning in to Atsumu's gentle touch. 

The blond takes careful inventory of the midnight pools that are Sakusa’s eyes, how a single flash of ferocity can convey his unhindered ruthlessness as an athlete. But in the time they’ve spent together, Atsumu has been at the receiving end of his longing stares, warm gazes that have reduced him to a clumsy fool with reddened cheeks as if he were drunk on all the attention. He used to call them hypnotic, but he soon finds out that's too gaudy and too insufficient of a word to describe their depth. Atsumu knows more than anyone this feeling of simultaneously wanting to be looked at by Sakusa and wishing for him to avert his heavy gaze entirely.

But Atsumu has gotten used to it and so he grants Sakusa permission, responding accordingly by holding his stares steady with his own pair of honey browns.

“Are you going to try and shut me up?” Atsumu challenges.

And Sakusa's lips are on him again, less hurried as if time has ceased to exist in their small bubble. Atsumu’s hand travels from Sakusa’s cheek to the back of his neck, but the latter reaches out for his forearms and guides his hands to settle eventually on his hips.

“You can hold me here,” Sakusa whispers against the corner of his mouth.

Atsumu swallows thickly, but he accedes and his palms make contact with the rough waistband of his sweats. They go on and on. Languid glide of mouths, the unintended graze of teeth eliciting goosebumps and a gasp. Atsumu curls his fingers, clutching both fabric and the flesh just beneath it. Too hungry for his own good, too intoxicated in the visceral sensations that's zipping along his spine. He holds him as if Sakusa were to instantly vanish should he so much as loosen his grip. And Sakusa reciprocates by tenderly cradling his jaw with the same underlying ardor.

The unexpected knock on Sakusa's door startles them both, and the rash realization that the door has been unlocked the entire time activates a fight or flight response in Atsumu who ends up shoving Sakusa with too much force intended. The thud that follows after his boyfriend lands on the floor causes Atsumu to panic even more, but the door cracks open and he has half a second to compose himself before the unwelcome guest steps inside the room.

"Yo what was that?" Inunaki asks. "Sounded like something fell."

"Uhh...we--"

"We were in the middle of an argument.” Sakusa says plainly, finally standing up and dusting himself off. "It got physical and he pushed me."

"Really?!" Inunaki turns to Atsumu. "You guys are actually fighting?"

"Y-yes!" Atsumu confirms as he slides off the bed. He quickly puts on a smug expression then haughtily crosses his arms over his chest. "And for the record, it was self-defense. I thought Omi-kun was going to hit me."

"Oh?" Sakusa leers threateningly at Atsumu. "Did you  _ want  _ to get hit?"

"Do  _ you  _ want to get hit now?" Atsumu attempts at an Oscar-worthy snarl.

"Okay that's enough you two," Inunaki moves in between them. "You guys know better than to fight.”

Atsumu huffs then dramatically pushes past Inunaki.

"Damn what were you two even fighting about anyway?" their libero's gaze trails after their setter who has already retreated to his own room.

"Which national team lineup was better," Sakusa tells him. 

"Are you serious?"

"Very much so."

***

"God what I would  _ give  _ to redo all that and catch Inunaki-san's face on tape."

"You still could've chosen to  _ not _ push me off my own bed."

"I said I was sorry, okay."

They're out on their usual evening jog at a nearby park, and after a steady two kilometer run, they've now slowed down to a casual walking pace. 

Sakusa starts to rub his wrist out of habit, the very sight of his hand activating a playback switch that brings back images of him holding Atsumu in many different ways over the past few weeks. He clenches it. Open. Close. The phantom warmth of Atsumu’s skin a lingering sear against his palm and between his fingers.

“Atsumu.” 

“Hmm?” 

The park is practically empty, quiet and dimly lit by the sparse street lamps along the wide gravel pathways. Sakusa stops in his tracks and the boy beside him halts as well. “Does it ever bother you whenever I touch you?”

They face each other. Atsumu’s mouth forms a tight line and Sakusa feels a heaviness in his chest, a moderate constriction of his airway as he anticipates an answer. 

Eventually, the boy in front of him moves wordlessly, and Sakusa continues to drown in the silence as a hand gingerly wraps itself around his right one, warm and welcoming in the coolness of the autumn evening. 

He takes that as Atsumu’s response and he accepts the way Atsumu pushes his fingers between his own embarrassingly cold ones. Sakusa thinks how under more favorable circumstances, he would have already tugged down his face mask and kissed Atsumu senseless. But they’re not behind closed doors nor was there a nearby alley to which he could conveniently whisk Atsumu away. 

_ Another time. _

Eventually, however, Sakusa’s mind wanders to the earlier incident at their dormitory. The vision of Atsumu comes into focus as he recalls the alarmed look in his eyes--the clear cut expression of someone who’s just been caught with his hand in a cookie jar. Ultimately, there was the hastiness in which he had pushed Sakusa off of him, and as he thinks and thinks, it all turns into an unusual mental itch that’s just begging to be scratched.

“Have you ever thought about telling anyone?” Sakusa asks him.  _ Scratch. _ He stares at where their hands are still connected. “About us in particular, I mean.”  _ Another scratch. _

Atsumu’s grip tightens. “All the time, Omi-kun.” 

“How come you’ve never brought it up then?” Sakusa looks up at him, but this time it’s Atsumu’s turn to tear away his gaze.

“I-I just thought you weren’t into that,” Atsumu says. “I mean, compromising your privacy and stuff.”

Sakusa can’t help but furrow his brows at him, the mental itch refusing to simply disappear. “Why do I sense that there’s something more?”

Atsumu lets go of his hand and somehow this seemingly inconsequential act gives rise to the smallest sense of panic deep in Sakusa’s gut.

“Can we talk about this somewhere else?” Atsumu asks, his voice nearly a whisper.

Sakusa breathes in sharply and he spares the heavens a prayer that Atsumu hasn’t picked up on his nerves. “Of course.”

He doesn’t receive a reply as Atsumu begins to take a few good steps ahead. They continue to walk that way, maintaining a small yet calculated distance. 

_ If you scratch hard enough, you’re going to bleed. _

Sakusa can’t help but assume that he’s just drawn blood.

***

Atsumu leads them to a park bench which, due to an overgrowth of shrubbery, might have been easy to miss, but Atsumu has circled this very park way too often that he considers himself familiar enough with all the little secrets it holds such as this very bench that’s beside a run-down vending machine.

His preferred jogging route doesn’t usually involve passing by this particular bench, but on the occasion that he does, he notices that when it’s not occupied by some passed out drunk, the bench provides ‘eager’ couples with a place to do things they really shouldn’t be doing out in public. And so as they approach it, Atsumu prays in silence that no one has already claimed it. Luckily it’s empty, and it even looks spotless. He takes a moment to thank the dropping temperatures for driving away the area’s regular patrons.

“Let’s sit here,” Atsumu motions to the bench.

Sakusa quirks a skeptical eyebrow at him which Atsumu already half-expected so he plops down on the bench first before pulling off his track jacket and placing it on the space beside him.

“What are you doing?” Sakusa asks him.

“You can sit on this, Omi-kun.”

“But you’ll be cold,” Sakusa promptly points out.

“I’ll be fine,” Atsumu smiles. “I promise.”

He hears Sakusa sigh from behind his mask, but he still ends up accepting his offer.

“I had teammates who dated in high school,” Atsumu blurts out once Sakusa has taken his seat. “My brother and our middle blocker, to be exact.”

Sakusa turns to him. “Motoya’s teammate?”

Atsumu nods. “It was okay at first. I mean, I really didn’t care to be honest. But they would have these stupid lovers’ quarrels which really messed with the team’s flow at times.”

“I see.”

“After they broke up, ‘Samu told me he didn’t regret anything except for just this  _ one _ thing,” Atsumu starts fiddling with his fingers, popping a few joints in the process. “He said he wished they had just kept it between them until graduation. Said that at least by then, they won’t be part of the same team anymore.”

He glances at Sakusa to see his reaction, but he's expressionless. Unresponsive. His eyes trained on something at the distance, his back ramrod straight clearly to avoid making contact with the bench.

"I didn't get it at first  _ until _ I started dating  _ you _ ," Atsumu continues. “I'm just so new to all of  _ this _ and I'm so scared of messing things up and the team doesn’t deserve that.  _ You  _ especially don’t deserve that. So I guess I just thought if we continue to keep it private, it wouldn’t be too much of a mess." He then squeezes out a dry laugh. “After all, I know how much you hate messes.”

Atsumu feels emptied out. Raw. The stream of honest sentiments may have been poured out in short and inarticulate bursts, but it’s an all-encompassing revelation of everything he’s held inside over the past few months. Atsumu, a stringent perfectionist who would spend hours polishing his tosses and refining his serves, knew that this very mindset would at some point bleed into every other aspect of his life outside of volleyball. 

And here it is. Jarringly clear and obvious in the way he cowers before hypotheticals in their relationship. His pride allows him to put on a display of confidence, but in the end, he’s still Miya Atsumu and he’s so in love for the first time that it feels like he’s a child discovering volleyball all over again--the thrill coupled with the familiar fear of inadequacy, but ultimately there’s contentment and unbridled joy that makes the leap of faith worth it.

The only big difference is that this isn’t volleyball anymore. This concerns the boy beside him, just a few inches away, and Atsumu had just willingly offered him to sit on his track jacket because that’s what being with Sakusa Kiyoomi does to him. And Atsumu knows in his heart of hearts that if this boy leaves him, it will  _ hurt _ and that he’ll only be in for far greater pain if he knows Sakusa Kiyoomi is also similarly torn and bruised by the end of it.

"So what then?" 

Atsumu whips his head around at the sound of Sakusa's voice.

"All my life my mind has always made me feel so anxious and so I know far better than anyone what it feels like to be afraid," Sakusa confesses. Atsumu notices him rubbing his wrist again, but with more nervous intensity. “But I've learned that while it’s okay to be scared, sometimes we shouldn’t let it hold us back.”

He sees Sakusa stand up and he’s walking in front of Atsumu, his jacket already in Sakusa’s hand.

“Don’t think you’re alone in this,” Sakusa tells him as he drapes the jacket over Atsumu’s shoulders. Then he crouches before Atsumu until he meets his gaze. He tugs down his facemask and gives him the smallest smile which to Atsumu is already big enough to hold all the answers he could ever need. “Didn’t you tell me before that we’ll be scared  _ together? _ ”

_ On the night of our first kiss. _

Atsumu is so distracted by the unrestrained thump of his heart that he fails to notice the tears that have gathered at the corners of his eyes. And when he blinks back dumbfounded, the wet streaks that roll down his cheeks startle him, even more so when Sakusa gently swipes at them with his thumb.

“Hey,” Sakusa whispers, gently holding Atsumu’s head in his hands. “We’ll be alright.”

He doesn’t get to answer back because Sakusa’s kissing him, slow and steady. And instead of feeling like his heart could at any moment rip a hole through his chest, he just drowns in tranquil warmth, a calmness that placates the frenzy against his ribcage. 

They pull apart eventually and Sakusa’s rubbing circles on his cheek with his thumb. “Please don’t cry anymore. It's ruining your good-looks.”

Atsumu laughs, full and uninhibited. He uses the heels of his palms to wipe away the remaining tears. Then he heaves out the deepest sigh before standing up.

“I’m starting to think you’re only dating me for my face, Omi-kun,” he teases while pulling his boyfriend to his feet.

Atsumu is swiftly caught off-guard when Sakusa grabs at his jacket that’s still hanging loosely from his shoulders. He quite nearly gasps when he is yanked close enough to feel Sakusa’s warm breath brush against the shell of his ear. “Did you know that a Greek philosopher believed that friendships can be based on _ pleasure _ , Atsumu?”

“No,” Atsumu replies, shamelessly weakened by the timbre of Sakusa’s voice. “Enlighten me?”

As Sakusa kisses him for the final time that evening, Atsumu grows increasingly aware of the grand and painfully comical irony of standing in the very same spot he had once side-eyed with distaste. 

  
  
  
  


Sakusa doesn’t fall asleep immediately once he’s finished with his entire evening routine. Even after reading a few more pages of a novel he’s recently started, he feels too agitated to stay focused and so he resigns to putting it back on his desk only to end up staring at his ceiling. 

_ You especially don’t deserve that. _

He hears Atsumu’s voice, the edge of a choked up sob that in effect had made Sakusa wish he could just reach deep inside Atsumu and crush whatever it is that gnaws at him. For as long as Sakusa can remember, he’s gotten so personally well-acquainted with the unforgiving nature of fear and doubt that he would never wish the worst of it on anyone, least of all Atsumu. And so he could only hope to be there for Atsumu the way Atsumu has always been there for him.

His phone suddenly buzzes and he grabs it from his desk. The harsh backlight of the screen casts an instant glow in the darkness of his room and it makes Sakusa squint as he punches in the PIN to unlock his phone.

**_MSBY Miya Atsumu_ **

_ Good night. I promise I won’t cry anymore. :) _

He stares at the message, totally foregoing the way the blue light is probably suppressing his melatonin levels (or so he has read). Sakusa knows he should send a response, but unfortunately, he’s still working on getting better at communicating electronically with Atsumu. After much internal back and forth, he does come up with a fitting reply, and he finally hits the send button before putting away his phone.

**_To: MSBY Miya Atsumu_ **

_ Good night. I’ll see you in the morning. _

Sakusa sleeps rather soundly that evening, blue light-induced melatonin depletion and all.

***

Sakusa and Atsumu officially come to the joint decision to let the team know about them. So one evening when all the Black Jackals are gathered at the dinner table, the two of them throw all caution to the wind when they call for the entire team’s attention before finally making their announcement. 

They had held hands under the table as a form of mutual reassurance only to shyly place them on the table once they finally broke the news to everyone.

Now Sakusa knew better than to create idealized scenarios in his head on how the rest of the evening should go after coming forward about their relationship. But the more human side to him couldn’t help but hope for the same forthcoming acceptance that had met his fellow wing spiker Bokuto when he had told them he’s been dating a former high school teammate. 

While there was no outright sentiment of disapproval, the general response was composed mostly of shifty looks and awkward tilts of the head. 

And that’s when Sakusa is most grateful to be dating someone who would probably disintegrate if he keeps his trap shut for more than ten seconds at a time. 

“Well?” Atsumu pipes up. “Is anyone going to say anything?”

“I-I think that’s great you’re dating, Atsumu-san!” Hinata speaks up, but he fails to conceal the very particular  _ glance  _ he casts in Meian’s general direction as he congratulates them.

Meian clears his throat. “We just--err--how do I say this?”

“We all actually thought you guys were fuck buddies,” Inunaki drops way too casually for someone who’s busy picking at the grilled fish on his plate. “That’s what you guys were up to the other day, right? Oh and speaking of which, you’re both terrible liars. I mean, a fight? Really?”

“W-what?!” Atsumu slams one hand on the table. “Why the hell would any of you think that? Fucking perverts!”

Sakusa pinches the bridge of his nose.  _ Kill me now.  _

“Well…” Meian scratches the back of his head.

“Don’t blame us! I mean, you guys are  _ always _ giving each other these  _ looks _ ,” Tomas throws in. “The kind that says ‘we smash on the side’.”

“Ooh! Like a ‘we share an inside joke, but it’s sex’  _ look _ !” Bokuto says as if he’s just had a lightbulb moment.

There’s a chorus of hums from the entire table, heads bobbing in agreement.

If Atsumu and Sakusa weren’t already blushing furiously before, they are now. Luckily for the latter, his facemask is a nifty security blanket to hide behind. Atsumu, flustered and exposed on the other hand, is now reduced to a rambling mess. Sakusa remains silent, admittedly somewhat guilt-ridden as he stews in his ill-timed feelings of endearment over the roll of Atsumu’s kansai-ben.

“Okay, okay,” Barnes steps in. “We’re sorry we jumped to conclusions.”

Some of the members end up snickering, but Atsumu is not having any of it.

“We _ never _ even had sex!” he proclaims defensively. “Ever!”

Sakusa effectively takes that as his cue.

“I think you should shut the hell up, Atsumu,” Sakusa says with a chilling calmness that makes Atsumu visibly flinch. 

A resounding laugh erupts at the dinner table, but it ends abruptly once they hear the harsh scrape of Sakusa’s chair against the tiled floor. 

“I still don’t understand what made any of you conclude that we were having intercourse without a pre-established relationship, but regardless we just wanted to be transparent that we are in fact dating. That’s all.”

A hush falls over the dining area, but of course peace is an ever fleeting concept in the Black Jackals dormitory.

Inunaki looks up from his plate of fish bones. “Wait so you guys weren’t fucking the other day?”

“No!” Both Atsumu and Sakusa yell in unison.

***

The following day, the team goes about their usual business as if nothing had happened--cramming themselves inside the team bus early in the morning, aptly going through the motions of drills and conditioning, reviewing plays for their upcoming match against the Deseo Hornets, and falling into their individual training programs before they wrap it up and hit the lockers. Just wholly unfazed by the fact that there’s a couple in the team’s midst.

While it is, quite frankly, an ideal outcome for Atsumu, he feels like he isn’t entirely out of the woods yet. Because as he does his warm up stretches the next morning, the words ‘fuck buddy’ bounce around unprompted in his skull and he ends up groaning internally for the nth time. 

_ Could this team be anymore crass? _

Atsumu knows he isn’t some squeaky clean saint who’s sworn an oath of purity. He's  _ definitely _ well-aware of that. And so he understands to some extent where the team  _ might  _ have been coming from. Unfortunately, that does not exactly bode well for him as he finds himself more overtly self-conscious than ever over even the minutest of interactions he has with Sakusa who catches on immediately as expected.

“You’re just way in your head,” Sakusa tells him while handing him his water bottle. 

“I know that,” Atsumu whines, taking the bottle from him. “I mean it’s just--what do you think they were seeing this entire time, Omi-kun?”

Before Sakusa could even answer, Tomas was already motioning at them from the court. “Hey, love birds! Hurry up! Practice match time!”

“Haha very funny!” Atsumu snaps back, cheeks spiking to a relentless burn.

He’s not going to deny it--Atsumu is and has always been the type to get easily embarrassed. And as childish of a trait that may be, he admits it’s a part of him (which fortunately Sakusa thinks is quite cute). A jab here and a taunt there are enough to make him want to shrink and melt. He feels it when no one laughs at his jokes or when he fails to follow through with his attempts to be cool and his subsequent actions end up being laughably cringe-worthy. Now that their  _ notoriously playful  _ teammates know about him dating Sakusa, they’re pouncing on the opportunity to exploit this weakness of his. 

“Hey,” Sakusa puts a hand on his shoulder. “It’s really bothering you, isn’t it?”

The corner of Atsumu’s mouth quirks up as he shrugs. “They’ll grow tired of it eventually.”

“Not gonna put up a fight?,” Sakusa cocks his head to the side.

_ He’s so impossibly cute. _

“Nah,” Atsumu says and he’s so close to mussing up the curls on Sakusa’s head, but he remembers where he is and he’s not sure if he can endure another round of teasing (which as expected has all been targeted exclusively towards Atsumu).

“How unlikely of you,” Sakusa folds his arms across his chest. “This isn’t the feral bastard I’m attracted to.”

An odd combination of delight and unease stir inside Atsumu. “What are you suggesting?”

“We give them a show, Atsumu.”

It’s a given fact of life that Sakusa Kiyoomi is not one to half-ass anything, and Atsumu understands that fact to its fullest extent. So when Sakusa wraps an arm around Atsumu’s waist, pulling him flush against his chest before he angles his head and presses a heated kiss on Atsumu’s lips, it shouldn’t have come as a shock to the blond setter. And yet it does. Like a harsh stab of electricity and he’s instantly on  _ fire. _

“Oh my god we _ get it _ already!” he hears Inunaki say. “Also, way to be inconsiderate! Some of us are single, you know!”

“Not me!” Bokuto’s voice joins the blurring cacophony of noises in the gym.

Atsumu smirks against Sakusa’s mouth.

_ I’ll be okay. We’ll be okay. _

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading and again i hope this part was okay. i worried a lot with this one because it's a turning point installment for the overall plot lol. i promise to continue to work harder on the subsequent parts uwu.
> 
> anyway, thanks again. until next time~
> 
> p.s. congrats to sakuatsu nation for reaching over 2k fics! good job to everyone! is it really a delusion if there are 2k+ fics under the pairing's tag? again i'm on twitter so feel free to yell at me there (@vaporstretch__)


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